


Slithered Here From Eden

by Midnightminx90



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Getting Together, Humor, Light Angst, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Other additional characters to be added, Post-Canon, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-23
Updated: 2019-07-23
Packaged: 2020-07-12 11:26:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19945399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Midnightminx90/pseuds/Midnightminx90
Summary: A series of Slice of Life fic(lets) based on our favourite Ineffable Husbands and their new life after Almostageddon





	Slithered Here From Eden

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Hozier's From Eden

Armageddin’t came and went in a wholly unexpected way for all parts involved. No one died, and the Lord of Hell was sent back home, rejected by his own son.   
  
No wonder, really, as he had never been there for Adam in any way, shape or form since he was created. And no, getting him the Hell Hound, or Dog as he is now known as, did not change the subject. Satan had, after all, not raised the hound or brought it to Adam on his 11th birthday.   
  
That had been the work of his underlings.   
  
It’s all made Crowley wonder if being rejected in such a way made Satan feel like he Fell once again. For Crowley, at least, Falling had felt very much like rejection. It hadn’t been his intention, he’d just hung with the wrong crowd, is all, and had paid the price.   
  
Crowley once claimed that, in reality, he didn’t Fall, as much as Saunter Vaguely Downwards.   
  
In many ways, it was a lie. By saying it like that, Crowley makes it seem that, more than six thousand years later, he’s not all that bothered by the whole deal.   
The truth, in fact, is that Crowley’s been haunted by his own choices and the following rejection, as much as a demon can be haunted anyways.   
  
Not that he’ll ever admit it, if he even is aware of it, but Crowley’s treatment of his plants stems from that very event, and has shaped him in more ways than he wants to consider.   
  
What Crowley had failed all together to realise, was that Aziraphale had fallen too. Not Fallen, capital F, like Crowley himself had, but not altogether different either. He had, again in Crowley’s own term, Sauntered Vaguely after Crowley, between cities and countries and continents. 

It had not taken long for Crowley to Fall, in the grand scope of things, nor had it taken all that long for Aziraphale to fall for Crowley.

And so, Crowley had failed to realise that his feelings of affections, unexpressed thus far, such as they are, are reciprocated.

Had he known that since the start, then maybe Aziraphale’s hand taking hold of his, entwining their fingers as they attempt to have lunch at The Ritz would not have been such a surprise.  
  
Attempt being the key word.   
  
As it turns out, drinking tea and eating with only one hand proves to be rather difficult in and of itself, but Crowley quickly came to the realisation that Aziraphale’s skin against his own is a much larger distraction than he would have ever thought.   
  
Thankfully, Crowley notices, Aziraphale is struggling too.   
  
It’s a small comfort, and Crowley, still feeling uneasy after all the events of the past few days, takes every little comfort he can get. Especially when it comes in the shape of his angel.   
With their fingers entwined, that statement suddenly weighs a lot more than it did before, Crowley comes to find.   
  
He squeezes Aziraphale’s hand in response to his own thoughts, and goes back to eating…   
  
Well, he doesn’t know quite what it is, not used to eating food as he’s never reached Aziraphale’s love of this part of humans. Still, whatever the small sandwiches are filled with, and whatever type of tea Aziraphale ordered does taste good. The small pieces of pastries resting on the topmost platter looks awfully tempting, but judging by the look on his angel’s face, Crowley will have to fight him for it.   
  
No matter. Aziraphale loves this place and Crowley feels quite certain they’ll end up going back here.   
Then maybe Aziraphale can teach him about what’s so special about this place, that he chose it for their celebratory meal after Armageddon’t.   
  
\---   
  
Aziraphale’s hand doesn’t leave Crowley’s.   
  
They end up walking all the way to the bookshop in Soho, and Crowley does, despite himself, enjoy the long walk.   
  
‘ _You go too fast for me Crowley_ .’ The words ring through his ears, an unwelcome memory. His brain, the blasted thing, having at the time captured a perfect version of the look on Aziraphale’s face and the way he sounded so broken, now re-plays it in vivid details.   
  
Crowley stops just outside the door to the shop, no longer pulled forward by Aziraphale.   
  
“Are you alright?” Aziraphale asks, and he cannot possibly understand what goes through Crowley’s head at this moment.   
  
The fire. The scent of ancient books burning. The complete lack of his only friend, his best friend, his… angel. No answer when he shouts out for him, desperate and confused and terrified and _alone alone alone, he is alone_ .   
  
“Crowley?” Aziraphale’s hand tightens on his, and then the angel stands in front of him, slightly shorter but their heights now evened out as he stands on the step.   
  
He looks into Aziraphale’s eyes, sees unspoken understanding.   
  
“I’m _here_ , Crowley. I’m not going anywhere.”   
  
Crowley enters the store first, sees it as it used to be, before the fire that threatened to end him before the End itself could, feels the hand holding his own tight, anchoring him to the here and now.   
  
Aziraphale leads him to the back, to the chairs they’ve sat in so many times before. He holds Crowley’s hand still, making sure Crowley knows he’s safe, that they’re here _together_ .   
  
It’s enough to make Crowley gether his courage, what little he has left in his human form.   
  
Before his angel can take a seat, Crowley reaches out, pretending to fix Aziraphale’s collar, pretending to straighten his bowtie. He doesn’t think they’ve ever been this close before, and wonders how he could possibly have resisted finding out what it would be like.   
  
Their eyes meet, slitted pair meeting beautiful dark ones. Tension hangs in the air for a moment.   
  
_Oh_ , t _o Hell with it_ , Crowley thinks.   
  
He grabs Aziraphale by the lapels of his coat, pulling him into kiss. Crowley feels himself sink into it, this new and scary and wonderful and awkwards feeling. He’s seen humans do this, knows what it means to them to place their lips on someone else’s, but it’s quite another thing to actually do it.   
  
Watching doesn’t translate to skill, and so when Aziraphale doesn’t do anything, he worries he misread things.   
  
“I’m not going too fast for you, am I?” Crowley can’t stop the worry from seeping into his voice.   
  
“My dear, you could never,” Aziraphale says. “But I’m afraid I don’t know quite how to, well, do _this_ ,” he adds, waving a hand between the pair of them.   
  
Crowley laughs, feeling light and carefree for the first time since, well, since forever really.   
  
“We’ll just figure it out together then, shall we?”   
  
After all, it has been said that learning how to do something is half the fun, and one suspects that both the angel and demon will have quite a lot of fun learning how to do whatever it is they are doing. 


End file.
